Weiler paintings violate accepted standards. Every brushstroke in this riot of color and texture seems to have its individual consciousness. Neither well planned design nor crisp symmetry exists. Rather, you find jagged lines, strong color splashes, and untamed rough edges that resist control. Though messy, in the nicest of imaginable terms. The type of messiness you find yourself stopping and twice looking at. Visit this page
Texture rules the show. Paint thick globs lay next to tiny washes to create a living layered surface. While some sections are scraped down to show traces of the canvas under, others are built up so much they create shadows. You could find yourself wondering how some effects were produced—was that piece painted over and over, or stripped down to the bones and then rebuilt? Your eyes are riveted to the painting because of the conflict between these opposites.
Color is the soul of the work; it is not only ornament. Deep reds collide with chilly blues, while unanticipated yellow streaks cut across the tumult. Though sometimes they don’t “match,” the colors somehow work. Like a jazz solo, it is offbeat, erratic, yet somehow harmonic. On the surface, light and shadow perform games that cause certain areas to seem to thrust forward while others fade into the background. You are being pulled into the painting, not only observing it.
One finds it difficult to overlook the emotional weight of Weiler paintings. The strokes of the artist convey his vitality. Some are like an outburst—fast and forceful. Others are languid and deliberate, as if the brush were dragging across the canvas with reluctance. That emotional range provides the art complexity beyond only the visible. It’s like the painting absorbed every mood swing and is now freely visible to the world.
As you focus longer, patterns show up and vanish. While a sweeping curve suggests a scene just out of focus, a dark smudge can look like a moving figure. Your brain tries to make sense of it all automatically, but the work defies simple answers. That lends part of the appeal. It’s designed to evoke something; it’s not meant to be unambiguous. And what you find today could not be what you find tomorrow.
Magic happens in the layering process. Paint lays down, pulls back, then builds back up. Scuffs and scrapes reveal the past hidden behind appearances. While some places feel newly painted, others seem nearly old. That combination of old and modern generates movement, much like the work is continually developing long after it is completed. It’s flawed, but that’s exactly why it appeals.
There are no answers from Weiler painting. It lets you sit with a question it throws at you. A piece can have you think of a stormy sky or perhaps it seems like peace following turmoil. In either case, it draws you in without asking for justification. That subdued uncertainty is what stays in your head long after you turned away.